Don laughed and walked toward the bench. His eyes scanned the spectators.
It was just possible that Tim had changed his mind--

"I don't care whether he did or not," the pitcher muttered hotly. He drew
on a sweater and took a seat on the bench, and stared out toward center
field.

By and by it was time to start the game. Ted cried, "Come on, now;
everybody get into this." Don dropped his sweater on the bench and walked
out toward the mound.

The Little Falls coachers began a sharp rattle of talk. Don glared at
them coldly. Up went his arm--and down.

"Strike one!"

Don pitched again. The batter hit a twisting, difficult fly, but Marty
Smith ran back and caught it deftly.

"Yah!" cried Ted. "That's getting them."

It was clever fielding. Don seemed to catch the contagion of its worth.
Why, with support like that a pitcher ought to do wonders. He pitched
again.

"Strike!" ruled the umpire.

"Wow!" Ted said softly. "He surely has stuff on the ball today."